by fate do they part
by decrescence
Summary: She doesn't know who he is or what he's done or what his name could possibly be, but when she looks at his face, in his eyes, she knows one thing for sure. — written for SasuSaku Month 2013. AU.


_she is an angel who has found her way home,_

* * *

A thin, but not fragile hand closes around the doorknob to a large, peculiar building at the end of a winding road, and the sound of lightly placed footsteps follows suit. The hand belongs to a girl named Haruno Sakura, and the sound of footsteps does as well.

She steps through the doorframe carefully, not even remembering why she had chosen to, and not even knowing if she had a real reason to in the first place. This is not like her. She is someone who thinks before moving and speaking and breathing, and that is how she has always been. Perhaps her actions are caused by mere curiosity. Perhaps she is being possessed.

The first thing Sakura realizes is that the sound emancipating from the wide hallway she had entered is horribly deafening, except there is no actual sound at all—only silence. The silence is deafening, and she hates it; it is a bitter silence, like the type that remains after the steady whir of the air conditioning evaporates, leaving behind an uncomfortable stillness that becomes more and more unbearable the longer you stay in the room.

* * *

_but it is not how she dreamt it would be,_

* * *

The second thing she realizes is that mirrors adorn every inch of the walls like shattered glass fragments, except for the minuscule gaps between each of the uneven pieces, and the domed ceiling, which is a perfect, pearly white.

Some mirrors distort Sakura's reflection when she gazes into them, but every piece shows essentially the same picture—a pink-haired girl clothed in the most beautiful dress the color of angel wings. The girl's smile is crooked, but she is still breathtaking.

She peers into the mirrors again and realizes that everyone else in the vicinity—there are quite a few people—wear the same pure white, and the room is ablaze with brilliance and light, but the fluorescence is duller somewhere in the center, in the heart of the room. Someone has broken the perfection.

* * *

_and he is someone who cannot belong in a place so untainted;_

* * *

There is a figure clad in black, and Sakura feels as if she knows him, though she hasn't caught even a glimpse of his face. His hair is a dark raven and falls over his forehead much like a person she knows, and the name "_Sasuke_" escapes her lips as a hushed whisper, but she isn't sure that it fits.

The people in the room cannot seem to see the boy, or maybe they are pretending not to. He is ignored and secluded, but strangely, he stands tall, taller than anyone else, and proudly, with his shoulders flawlessly squared, and she can't help but be mesmerized.

Obsidian eyes meet green ones, and everything stops. The silence seems quieter somehow, and Sakura senses a vacancy in her chest where her heartbeat used to be.

* * *

_a reunion between the two is due,_

* * *

And suddenly, she's walking towards him, no, she's running towards him, and she doesn't know why, but she does—perhaps she is being manipulated after all. She doesn't know who he is or what he's done or what his name could possibly be, but when she looks at his face, in his eyes, she knows one thing for sure.

_She loves him._

When she reaches the black-clothed figure, she feels herself smiling, and for a moment, she thinks he is smiling too, but then he holds out his arms like a barricade between, and she stops.

He says nothing, the look his features hold say simply, "_no_," and Sakura does not understand. She reaches out towards him again, but as soon as she clasps onto his right hand, his very presence begins to fade away.

* * *

_but by fate do they part,_

* * *

Although the image is terrifying, Sakura cannot pull herself back, she cannot leave him. It feels like this has happened to her sometime before, in a memory she can't remember or has chosen to forget.

The air is thin and hard to breathe, and now it is littered with jeers and taunts and words she doesn't want to hear. The beautiful people, all dressed in white, are laughing at him. They are not angels at all.

Sakura realizes that she cannot touch the dark-haired male or even summon gentle words to console him. He is drifting away, he is disappearing, but oddly enough, he doesn't seem to need calming. His face is already relaxed, and his eyes are almost soft, like he pities her instead of himself. The combination is odd, she thinks.

* * *

_and although the gods will them to remain separate,_

* * *

Then, in the midst of it all, when she cannot find him, _he _finds her, encasing her form in his arms, and although the gesture is soft and barely there, it steadies her. The mocking voices disintegrate, and the quiet resumes, and this time, it is not bitter or uncomfortable. In fact, to Sakura, it feels like home.

The touch on her shoulders becomes lighter and lighter, until it finally dissolves around her, but before it disappears completely, a whisper that sounds strangely like "_Sakura_" passes her ear, and she thinks it's her name but isn't quite sure.

She only knows that she loves him, and he loves her, and that's all that will ever matter.

* * *

_true love will always prevail._


End file.
